Give Back the Pain: Emotional Healing Through Source Completion Therapy

By Robert T. Bleck

Believing that we all suffer from at least some emotional wounds as a result of our past experiences, Dr. Robert Bleck set out to devise a recovery therapy to aid his clients in "coming to terms" with those past hurts. The result has come to be known as Source Completion Therapy (SCT).

"To live a healthy and enriched life, our past emtotional wounds-like bodily infections-must be cleansed and allowed to heal. Source Completion Therapy is designed to do just that." Dr. Bleck, Chapter 1

Incorporating all the effective, significant psychological theories widely in use today, SCT takes us on a journey of personal exploration and emotional healing built on the theory that we can only break free of the disabling effects of our hurts if we (first) become fully aware of their true origins, (next) re-experience the trauma, and (finally) complete the healing process by confronting the source of the pain.

The text is completed by an easy-to-use self-hypnosis script designed to bring on the state of relaxation necessary for reliving and re-experiencing the events that created our symptoms. Options for giving the pain back to its source (completing) are also offered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 15, 2000
• ISBN: 9781475921397

Robert T. Bleck

Robert T. Bleck, creator of Source Completion Therapy, received his Ph.D. from the University of Florida in 1977. Dr. Bleck is a licensed Mental Health Counselor, certified Clinical Mental Health Counselor and National Certified Counselor. A former professor at a number of universities, he is currently a psychotherapist in private practice. As a writer and an innovator in the field, he has appeared on television and radio shows throughout the country.

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Give Back the Pain

Emotional Healing through

Source Completion Therapy

Robert T. Bleck, Ph.D.

Authors Choice Press

San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai

Give Back the Pain

Emotional Healing through Source Completion Therapy

All Rights Reserved © 1993, 2000 by Robert T. Bleck, Ph.D.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Authors Choice Press

an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse.com, Inc.

5220 S 16th, Ste. 200

Lincoln, NE 68512 www.iuniverse.com

Originally published by Mills and Sanderson

DISCLAIMER

The case histories and quoted passages appearing in this work are composites adapted from the real life experiences of Dr. Bleck and the many personalities with whom he has been in contact over his lifetime. They are used here for the universality of the emotions expressed, andaré not intended to identify any particular individual or situation. All names and other specifics have been fictionalized to further insure anonymity.

ISBN: 0-595-15116-7

Contents

1 The Wounds of Childhood

2 What Is Source Completion Therapy?

Phase 1: Awareness

Phase 2: Relive, Re-experience, Release

Phase 3: Completion

Duration of the Healing Process

3 Diversions: How We Stay Unaware

Pronouns of Denial

Laughing on the Outside, Crying on the Inside

Consistent Criticism and Judgement of Others

Intense Anger Toward Self and Others

Obsessions and Compulsions

Addictions

Phobias

Numbing

Multiple Personalities

4 Transference and Projection More Diversions

Transference

Projection

5 Countering Diversions Creating Awareness

Language of Awareness

Dreams

Body Language

6 The Three R’s: Reliving, Re-experiencing, and Releasing

A Script for Reliving Childhood Experiences

7 Giving It Back to the Source: Methods of Feedback

8 The Story of Lindsey: A Case in Source Completion Therapy

Parting Thoughts

To my son Jason:

I wish for the purity in your heart and the innocence in your soul to remain with you throughout your life.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my wife, Bonnie, for her consistent love, encouragement and editorial expertise; my parents, Hank and Ruth, for their lifelong support and belief in me; and all those individuals who have had the courage and commitment to face their source.

1

The Wounds of Childhood

With tears streaming down her face, April paced outside the closed door to her parents’ bedroom. As happened so often after her mother and father fought, her mother had stormed off to the bedroom and slammed the door.

The fighting was always intense and bitter. Her mother screeched and slapped viciously at her father, who clenched his fists, threw his arms out to protect himself, and stormed out of the house. Frightened, April desperately tried to find comfort with her mother.

Mommy, Mommy, what happened? Where’s Daddy going? she whined.

Shoving April aside with her flailing arms, her mother responded, Leave me alone you damned kid. It’s none of your business. I want to be left alone. I just want to die.

Next came the banging of the bedroom door. Scared and feeling totally alone, April stood in front of the closed door crying and twirling her curly hair around the tip of her finger. As her body rocked back and forth, a moan made its way up from the deep emptiness within her.

Young, helpless, and paralyzed with fear, she was unable to speak, but inside her head she screamed, Mommy, Mommy, please don’t shut me out. Please, Mommy, just love me, just hold me. Seven-year-old April stayed huddled outside the bedroom door, alone and trapped with her pain.

Conflicting thoughts and feelings raged inside little April. Part of her didn’t want to be a burden and add to her mother’s stress. She was terrified that with any more pain her mother might really die. Another part of April desperately wanted to be close to her mother at these times. She wanted to reach out to her, comfort her, and just make things better. If April could do that, then maybe her mother would have room in her heart to love April. Perhaps then, her mother might touch her, hold her, laugh with her, and treat her like a special little girl.

April yearned for such a warm, intimate relationship with her mother, but felt powerless to make it happen. So, not daring to upset her mother anymore, and fearing additional rejection, April sat huddled on the floor, holding back her tears and waiting for her mother to come out. Inside of April lay a well of unreleased tears and an emotional isolation so deep and consuming that it knew no bounds.

Twenty years later, April walked past her husband, through the living room, and into her own bedroom. She flicked on the light and stared at the clock. Her mouth was dry and her stomach queasy as she prepared herself for the call. It was Wednesday. She knew the phone would ring in 5 minutes. Like clockwork, her mother called every Wednesday night at precisely nine. She hated Wednesdays.

But maybe tonight would be different. After all, it was her mother’s birthday. April had picked out a beautiful scarf and mailed it to her mother a week ago. She knew her mother liked scarves and hoped the gift would please her. Still, swaying back and forth and feeling nauseous, most of her really doubted it. When the phone rang, April suddenly felt cold all over as she braced herself for the hurt she knew would come.

How are you, April?

Okay, Mom. How are you and Daddy?

Well, right now your father’s trying to fix the dishwasher. What a joke. I’d fix it myself if I had the time. He’s useless around here. I should have left years ago ...

Mom, did you get the birthday gift I sent?

Yeah, but I hate blue. You should’ve asked me first. You and your father never consider what I want.

At this point, April felt a crushing heaviness within her chest. Trying not to feel the rejection, April’s eyes glazed over as she held back her tears. Her body stiffened, and she used her energy to keep her feelings of disappointment from surfacing. For the rest of the conversation, April responded mechanically, barely hearing what her mother was saying.

As she hung up the phone, April began to relive the feelings of deep isolation she felt as a child. Part of her wanted to reach out to her husband, connect with him, and be comforted, but—as usual—she didn’t. Instead, she walked quickly out of the bedroom, past the living room, and into the kitchen. Reaching into the refrigerator, she pulled down the apple pie, cut herself a huge slice, and stood there eating ...

~ ~ ~

Closing the door as he entered his house, Steve noticed his mother, clad in a housedress, sitting alone in the dark. Switching on the lights, he heard his annoyed mother say: Wipe your feet, put your school things away, and do your homework before dinner. He was hungry and wanted a snack first. As Steve took a step toward his mother, she threw up her arms and shooed him away like a fly.

Dejected, Steve moved back and thought how different his house was from those on TV. There, kids got a warm hello, a nice hug, and milk and cookies. Steve smiled for an instant as TV voices replayed inside his head:

Hi Mom, I’m home.

Hi Beaver, I’m so glad to see you. How about a snack?

He really wished his mother would offer him such comforts when he walked in from school. TV, what a lot of crap, Steve thought. Or was it?

The evening’s dinner conversation, as usual, centered around the misdeeds of Steve’s younger brother. Steve tried to interject a bit of information about his own day, but was sternly reprimanded by his father, who shouted, Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to your mother. I hate that. I’ll tell you when I’m free to talk to you. Now finish your supper.

Feeling wounded, Steve looked down at his plate, ate quickly, and then ran upstairs to his room. He grabbed his rubber ball and hurried outside. Steve started walking down the block, bouncing the ball hard and rhythmically as he went. As he made his way down the street, he strained to see in the lighted windows of the other houses. What were these families like? Did other mothers give their kids milk and cookies? Did other fathers play ball with their sons? Were these houses like the ones on TV? He desperately wanted to know.

Still wondering in his adulthood, Steve sat on the couch in his Manhattan apartment unable to sleep. At 2:00 in the morning, sucking and chewing furiously on the cap of his pen, he was feeling panicky. His third wife had left him and he couldn’t understand why. He glanced down at his wrist and began to rub a new sore. Suppose it was Aids. Suppose it was cancer. Suppose he had to go into the hospital. With his wife gone, who would take care of him? Who would reassure him? Who would feed him and nurture him?

He thought back to his third wife’s parting words: I’m just so tired of our relationship, Steve. I’m tired of that distant stare you have in your eyes when I talk to you. You seem so involved in your own world that I feel you don’t even know that I’m around. I’m tired of your lack of interest in me and your lack of response to my needs. I’m tired of having to ask you to hold me when I’m sad, and of you rolling over in bed when I reach out to you. I’m fed up with having to take care of the house, bills, and cars all by myself. I’m sick of constantly picking up after you. I hate being blamed every time you lose something. I’m yearning for a relationship with a man, Steve, not a little boy! I’m tired of being your mother.... Steve began rubbing his sore even faster.

What could he do to make these women stay? What could he do to keep their love? What did other men do? How did they keep their women ? What was it like in other apartments? Steve rose from the couch, walked over to his desk and reached for the pornographic magazine and binoculars he stored in one of the drawers. Making his way to the window, he raised the binoculars to his eyes and continued his desperate lifelong search for love.

~ ~ ~

Helen heard the car door slam, and her body immediately tensed up. That familiar feeling of fear that started in her chest and burned its way outward to the rest of her body was instantly present. What would he do to her this time? She could try to hide under the bed, but when he found her the punishment would be worse.

At the dinner table, Helen dared not look at her father. She thought maybe she could make herself invisible so he wouldn’t notice her. If she could stay as still as a statue maybe he wouldn’t find a reason to scold her or slap her. Just maybe, she prayed. Maybe tonight it would be different. But it wasn’t, and almost every night was the same.

Getting up from the table, he staggered toward her. Helen could feel his demonic eyes and

Reviews for Give Back the Pain

[Bonnie · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Great book. Great writing. Easy to read and understand. Source Completion Therapy made a lot of sense. And I wanted to read more about each of the characters portrayed in the book.